Changer's Daughter (44 page)

“I must admit, I see no way around it, but I dislike doing it. I am already in his debt. I have no desire to be in anyone’s debt, but in his, perhaps, least of all. It is impossible to know what he will want in return.”

Arthur sighs. He had called Chris into his office as soon as the human had arrived, even before the other had reached his office, needing desperately to talk out this problem before the day grows any older.

Now the King toys with the pot of hot tea set on his desk, adds a minuscule amount more to his cup, sighs again, rubs his beard, and continues:

“But I see no way around it. I must ask the Changer for a favor. I cannot risk that our people are waiting for me to send them aid.”

Chris Kristofer, seated in what has become “his” chair in Arthur’s office, nods. He has spent the last day or so garnering every scrap of information he could about the windstorm surrounding Monamona, Nigeria. He now knows the force of the storm winds, their patterns of dispersement, and their basic characteristics. That all the meteorologists who have offered their opinions—officially or otherwise—have admitted to being stumped has been no great comfort.

“An airplane,” Chris says, “even if we had one flown in illegally from Benin, the border country closest to Monamona, could not penetrate the wind. Nigeria is not permitting tourists, and most other requests for entry are being closely scrutinized. As you have said, you need someone who can enter the country illegally and unnoticed.”

“And,” Arthur sighs, “someone who can blend into the population once inside.”

“And,” Chris prompts helpfully, “work completely outside the human population if necessary. That severely narrows your options. Are there other shapeshifters who might suit the bill?”

“There are others,” Arthur admits, “but none who I could be certain would do the job as well. The Changer is unique among us in the range and variety of his forms. He is very... old.”

Chris wonders at the awe in Arthur’s voice when he says that single word. Old. What is “old” to a person who once ruled in ancient Egypt, whose deeds are recorded in the oldest written epic known to humanity?

Intellectually, Chris knows that the Changer has been around a lot longer than Arthur, but his frame of reference gets shaky when asked to accept a man who was old when dinosaurs walked the Earth. Maybe Arthur’s frame of reference gets shaky, too.

“Call Duppy Jonah’s palace,” Arthur says, “and see if you can get the Changer to the phone. I’m going to call Lovern and tell him what I intend.”

Chris places the call and when he signals that the Changer is waiting Arthur switches lines. Demonstrating a trust that Chris had not expected, the King motions for him to remain and switches the call onto intercom.

“Changer,” Arthur says, his measured tones showing nothing of his anxiety, “this is Arthur Pendragon.”

“Arthur,” acknowledges the Changer’s deep, gravelly voice. He offers nothing more, and after a polite pause the King continues:

“I am calling to beg a favor of you.”

“Blunt. Ask.”

Chris thinks it rather courteous of the Changer to substitute “ask” for Arthur’s “beg.”

“A situation has arisen in Nigeria...” Concisely but completely, Arthur reports the situation. “I am concerned about those of our people who are there: Anson, Eddie, Dakar, Katsuhiro, and, if last reports remain correct, Shango. Would you locate them, tender them aid if needed, and help them to depart if required?”

The Changer doesn’t pause. “What are you offering?”

“Favors.”

Chris can see the effort Arthur is making not to sigh. He understands why. What the King is offering is, within the athanor economy, the equivalent of a blank check with at least six zeros drawn in and room for more.

“If you ask a favor of me,” the King continues, “I will grant it as quickly as possible. I can intercede for you with another member of the Accord. In such cases, I cannot promise alacrity, but I can endeavor to achieve it.”

“Fair,” the Changer replies, “but you have always been fair with me, Arthur.”

“Then you will go?”

“On one condition.”

“Ask.”

“If I die while undertaking this job for you or as a direct result of it, you will transfer whatever credit I have earned with you to my daughter, Shahrazad.”

“Done.” Arthur nods crisply, though of course the Changer cannot see him. “Would you have me send a copy of a contract? I believe Vera has effected some computer access in your brother’s palace.”

“No. Your word is enough for me. Besides, I want to get going as soon as possible. Tell Frank MacDonald that I will be out of touch for some days. Shahrazad is with him.”

“I shall. Thank you.”

“Anson is my friend. I respect the others in varying degrees. Besides, I have not seen anything like this windstorm you describe for a long, long time.”

“You’ve seen!” Arthur begins excitedly, but the Changer has hung up the phone.

“Do you want me to try and get him again?” Chris asks, his finger on the redial button.

Arthur looks thoughtful. “Yes, but the Changer would have told me what he suspects if he wanted to. There is no bullying him. He’s tossed me that crumb, whether as comfort or clue I don’t know. If Lovern wasn’t so blessed busy, I’d have him look into it, but I suppose it’s academic.

“Speaking of Lovern’s problems,” the King continues, dismissing the Changer’s cryptic statement with visible effort, “have you or Bill had any luck tracking down possible candidates for the Academy?”

Chris shakes his head. “Bill keeps coming up blank on Alice Chun. My time has completely focused on the windstorm. Now that that’s settled...”

“As best as it can be for now,” Arthur interrupts.

“Yes, sir. Now that that’s taken care of, I can help either you or Bill with your recruitment efforts.”

“Help Bill first. I’ll send you a part of my list.”

“Yes, sir.” Chris rises, knowing from Arthur’s tone that he is dismissed.

“And Chris?”

“Sir?”

“Don’t mention my conversation with the Changer to anyone, please. Tell Bill, but no one else. If anyone calls asking about the windstorm, direct them to me.”

“Sire?”

Arthur acknowledges the question in Chris’s tone and posture, though the human does not articulate it further.

“The Changer may have been hinting that the storm is being caused by one of our own. If he was giving me a warning, I do not wish to ignore it.”

“Thank you, sir. I understand.”

“And Chris?”

“Yes, sir?”

“‘Arthur’ is fine. You’re doing a very good job.”

“Thank you... Arthur.”

When the Changer tells Duppy Jonah that he is leaving and why, the Sea King nods and wishes him well, but he cannot resist a parting cut.

“Are you certain you have not become Arthur’s lackey?”

“Positive,” the Changer says. “I have my reasons for going. Had I learned of this independently and all things were equal, I still would have gone. To have Arthur owe me favors for assuaging my curiosity pleases me.”

Duppy Jonah laughs. “A safe journey to you then, brother.”

Amphitrite embraces him, her expression serious. “And do be careful. We have enjoyed your company. Shall I say farewell to Vera for you?”

“I’ll do it myself,” the Changer says, his tone a bit brusque. “My route carries me that way.”

He doesn’t know if they believe him, but at least they are wise enough not to tease him. With great strokes of his triton tail, he arrives at the site of Atlantis. Vera is in counsel with a rather extraordinary electric eel but excuses herself when the Changer asks for a moment of her time.

“I’m going to Africa,” he says, “at once. Arthur’s business.”

“Africa!” She makes the connection immediately. “Has something happened to Eddie?”

“I don’t know. Neither does Arthur. That’s why I’m going.”

Vera, part of Arthur’s privy council, doesn’t ask for details. Either the King will give them to her or not.

“I wanted to say good-bye,” the Changer says, “since I don’t know when I’ll be back this way, and I have enjoyed our visits.”

“Thank you.” Vera’s cheeks color slightly. “I have, too.”

“Good.”

The Changer starts to move away, preparatory to shifting into something that can cover the distance to the west coast of Africa as quickly as possible. He pauses and returns.

“And you should know something.”

“Yes?”

“You are beautiful.”

Vera, who has been called wise, saintly, valiant, and brave, but rarely beautiful, stares at the ancient athanor. He isn’t mocking her.

“Beautiful? Me?” She gestures at her mermaid form. “This is just Lovern’s art.”

“Do you think I look at shape, Vera?” The Changer laughs softly. “Me? You have not always been beautiful, but you have become so. You should know this, because I may be the first to notice, but I will not be the last. Take care.”

He is gone then, a surge of his tail, a blur of motion, and then a lean, aquadynamic shape perfectly made for tirelessly covering distance beneath the water. Never mind that the creature it belonged to has been extinct these ten thousand years or more. No one but a few fish will note the anomaly, and they cannot tell anyone who will be troubled.

Vera hardly notices the Changer’s new shape, though once she would have shaken her head with disapproval at anyone taking such risks. Now her mind is on other things, other types of changes.

“Take care,” she calls after the departing form. Then, ever practical, she returns to her conference with the eel.

Bill Irish is waiting in the office he shares with Chris Kristofer when the other returns. Bill’s expression is somber and, despite its warm brown color, his face is definitely pale. Without a word, he hands a printout to Chris. The compact paragraphs spell out a problem both of them had dreaded, but had never really believed would happen.

Chris falls back into his chair, his eyes never leaving Demetrios’s report. When he finishes, he looks at Bill.

“I just got off the phone with Demi,” Bill says. “The satyrs have not returned. Demi’s exhausted and frantic, but is steeling himself to go tell Lil and Tommy what has happened. He asked that we tell Arthur.”

“Right.” Chris stares at the paper. “Can they handle the problem on their own? Isn’t Lil supposed to be some sort of witch?”

“She is,” Bill agrees, “but I think Demi’s more afraid of her reaction than he is of Arthur’s. Besides, this is a serious matter for the Accord. Demi’s too honest to want it swept under the rug. Even if it’s resolved without a crisis, Arthur should know what has happened.”

“Right.” Chris thinks of the King, whom he had left in relative peace. “I’d better get onto this right away.”

He squares his shoulders and heads back to Arthur’s office. He hopes that the Changer is swimming as fast as he can. Now, more than ever, he wishes that Eddie were here. He suspects that Arthur is going to wish it even more.

17